


Behind Locked Doors

by AfricanDaisy, KayleeArafinwiel



Series: The Iathrim Chronicles [16]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Father-Son Relationship, Greenwood, Mention of discipline, Original Female Characters - Freeform, Original Male Characters - Freeform, Second Age, Uncle-Nephew Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-13
Updated: 2017-11-19
Packaged: 2018-12-27 19:20:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12087672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AfricanDaisy/pseuds/AfricanDaisy, https://archiveofourown.org/users/KayleeArafinwiel/pseuds/KayleeArafinwiel
Summary: Every door can be opened. All you need is the right key. Prince Thranduil has a key, but not the right door, just determination and a loyal friend by his side. Elsewhere, long buried powers are glimpsed behind a door that won’t be unlocked until the time is right.





	1. The Keys to the Palace

**Author's Note:**

> This story is in response to a word prompt posted on our writing group. The prompt was 'key'.

The jangling of keys against keys was not quite loud enough to mask the sound of soft footsteps approaching from behind. Soft footsteps, but determined. They were the sort that belonged to an elf who had set himself a task, and didn’t intend to rest until he saw it through. In fact, the Lord Steward of the Realm knew very well to whom those footsteps belonged. Curling his fingers around the ring of keys in his hand, silencing their metallic chimes, he turned around and regarded his nephew with a fondly exasperated smile. He had far too much work ahead of him to be pestered by inquisitive elflings. Oh, but on the other hand, he tried to convince the diligent and conscientious side of his mind, putting off that work for a few more minutes wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. He needed time to think about it. He wasn’t entirely comfortable yet in his new role, and he wasn’t looking forward to the headache that would come with figuring it out. Of course, it was never a guarantee that his nephew wouldn’t give him a headache, but he decided to take the risk.

“What are you doing here, Thranduil?” he asked. “I thought you were going to play with Veassen.”

“I am. After I ask you an important question,” the Crown Prince declared.

That sounded serious, so Lord Vehiron, younger brother to the recently crowned Aran Oropher, responded with an equally serious nod. “Of course. What is it?”

“Nana is the Queen because she’s married to Ada who’s the King, and I’m the Prince because I’m their elfling. Ivy is in charge of the kitchens because she cooks good food,” Thranduil detailed thoughtfully. “And Herdir is the Chief Advisor because Ada needs help with all the king things he does now, and Herdir is the cleverest of them all.”

Well, there was more to it than that, but Vehiron supposed it would suffice as an explanation for now. “Was that the question, sweetling?”

“No,” Thranduil said impatiently. “What’s a Lord Steward?”

Vehiron blinked, caught off guard. “That would be me,” he replied, after a moment.

“Yes, I know, that’s why I’m asking you,” the elfling huffed. “If Ada does king things and Herdir does advisor things, what are steward things?”

“Ah. That is a very good question. Being the King’s Steward means that I might represent Oropher in matters of state. I might travel for him or preside over councils or trials. It also means taking care of the palace, approving the appointment of new staff, and looking after the keys.” Vehiron lifted the ring that he had slid off his belt, and the keys clinked against each other as he selected the one that would unlock the door to his office. “As for the rest of the ‘steward things’…when I figure them out you’ll be the first to know.”

“How can I be the first to know?” Thranduil asked reasonably, following his uncle inside. “Won’t you be the first?”

Vehiron tried not to roll his eyes. “Yes, well. You’ll be the first one I tell.”

“Don’t you think you ought to tell Ada first?” the elfling suggested.

“I imagine Oropher will be there when I discover what ‘steward things’ are,” Vehiron replied absently, looking around for something to do; palace staff had already drawn back the forest green curtains, opened the windows to let air in, and set a pitcher of chilled water on the sideboard. Dropping the keys onto his desk, he went to pour himself a cup. The water was infused with summer berries, he realised, smelling sweet strawberries and raspberries.

“Herdir ought to know too, if he’s Chief Advisor,” Thranduil was musing aloud. “And Elder Faelind, he’s important. Well, all the Elders are important but they might not all need to know that you’ve figured out how to be the Lord Steward. Maybe just tell Elder Faelind and he can tell the rest of them. Oh, and Nana. She is the Queen. So perhaps I ought to be the fourth or fifth to know, Uncle Vehiron.”

The little prince was incorrigible, but Vehiron couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh, all right. Fourth or fifth, if you insist. But I will let you know as soon as I can. How is that?”

“That’s fair,” Thranduil conceded. He wandered along the bookshelf at the side of the room, reaching up to run his fingers along the leather spines and rope bindings of the books that Vehiron used as reference in his work. When he reached the end of the bookshelf, he drifted over to the window and peered out of it, taking a moment to watch Master Echuiaeron tending the flowers in the garden below. Finally, under his uncle’s indulgent gaze, he climbed up onto the chair behind the desk and examined the keys that had been dropped there. “Is there a key for every single door in the palace?” he asked doubtfully. “There’s an awful lot of doors.”

Vehiron knew that his nephew was a curious elfling, and Thranduil didn’t ask a question unless he was genuinely interested in the answer. “Not every single door in the palace has a lock. And I don’t have a key for every single door that does,” the King’s brother added. “I just have keys to all the important rooms.”

“Is that for if the other important keys get lost?” Thranduil asked.

“Yes, or if we need to gain access to a room and the key holder is not to be found,” Vehiron replied. “Other elves have keys to certain of the important doors, you see. But I am the only one who has them all.”

“But why do you have to look after them?” Thranduil pressed. “You should just put all the spare keys in a box, and bury the box in a secret place that only you and Ada, and me because it’s my idea, and Nana because she’s the Queen, know about. Because what if you fell down a hole and you couldn’t get out? Then all the keys would be lost.”

Vehiron gave the elfling an exasperated look. “I shall not fall down any holes, not least because unlike a certain little boy, I do not go looking for Dwarves in places where I have no business being.” He doubted he would ever forget his nephew’s misadventures in the mountains when they had made their journey from Lindon, nor at Elder Serellon’s quarry when Thranduil and his friends had very nearly been hurt in their quest to find Dwarves. It seemed that to an elfling, vast amounts of stone meant that Dwarves just had to be close by.

“There’s rabbit holes, and wells, and trapdoors,” Thranduil recited, ticking them off on his fingers.

“I promise you, I will not fall down any holes,” Vehiron said firmly. “I look where I am going.”

“Everyone who ever fell down a hole probably thought the same thing.” The heir to the throne of Greenwood cut into his uncle’s sigh with a jangle of the keys. “Which is the most important? Is it a secret? Are you allowed to tell me?”

Reminding himself that he had inherited his mother’s patience and understanding instead of his father’s occasional irascibility, Vehiron took a moment to search for that tolerance. It wasn’t difficult to find it and reach for it; he had always been amused by mischievous little elves, having been one himself once. “All the keys are important,” he said eventually. “There are keys to the cells, the armoury, the archives, the treasury, the cellars, the healing wing, the royal quarters – among other things. They are all important in their own way.”

“Do you have a key to the nursery?” Thranduil asked curiously. “Could you lock me away if I annoyed you?”

“I could,” Vehiron said dryly. “If I was commanded to.”

“I don’t think Ada would make a command for me to be locked away just because I annoyed someone,” Thranduil reflected. He picked up the ring with all the keys on and examined each one slowly. Most of them were silver and he couldn’t see much difference between them, but a heavy iron key made him pause. “This is for the cells,” he guessed. “But there isn’t anyone in the cells, is there? They’re just…there. Empty.”

“Empty, yes. Your ada hasn’t had to put anyone in prison yet. We can hope he doesn’t have to,” Vehiron murmured. He paused by his desk, and reached down to give his nephew’s golden hair a gentle ruffle. “But anyone who had to spend any length of time imprisoned wouldn’t stay in the cells beneath the palace. Those are just holding cells, so don’t worry about that.”

Chewing his lower lip, Thranduil leaned his head in to the comforting touch of his uncle’s hand. “I don’t like to think of Ada putting a person in prison. I don’t think he would like it.”

“I think you’re right. It would be unpleasant for him,” Vehiron acknowledged. “Still, he knows his duty and he will do what he must.”

Thranduil stayed silent to digest that sobering thought, but he was interrupted by a soft tap on the door. He and his uncle both looked up, and Vehiron smiled ruefully at the chestnut-haired elfling who was peeking wide-eyed into the office. “Come in, Veassen. I am sorry my nephew has kept you waiting.” Veassen Taldurion nudged the door open a little wider and trotted inside, pausing just in front of the desk, hesitant and uncertain. Vehiron could guess what he was thinking. He was trying to decide if he ought to bow or not. Vehiron couldn’t help but feel a flash of sympathy; for all it was Thranduil who had been thrust into a whole new world not of his making, it had to be tough on his young friends as they adapted to being best friends with an elfling who just happened to be the Crown Prince.

Veassen settled for making a bobbing sort of gesture in Vehiron’s direction before gesturing urgently to his friend. “Thranduil, I found something. Come and look?”

The prince nodded and looked up at his uncle. “I’d like to leave now, please.”

Anyone would think Vehiron had dragged his nephew into the office and tied him up to keep him there. He rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t help laughing as he pulled Thranduil to his side in a one-armed hug. “Then of course you must go. Enjoy your playtime. Just remember to stay out of trouble, both of you.” He watched fondly as the elflings scampered from the room, Thranduil with a distracted wave and Veassen with a clumsy bow that was only marginally better than his first attempt. Still, he had tried. Vehiron sat down at his desk with a small smile. The room was suddenly deathly silent like the aftermath of a hurricane, and as challenging as Thranduil’s questions invariably were at the time, he missed them; not least because their absence meant he had no excuse to delay his work. He sighed, took a deep breath, and prepared to begin.


	2. The King's Treasure

Leaving Lord Vehiron and his work behind them, Thranduil made sure that the door was firmly shut and that the hallway was empty of grown elves who might want to spoil any fun that was to be had. He had found that grown elves had very different ideas of what was fun, or good. Not, of course, that he necessarily expected Veassen to suggest anything that would deliberately get them into trouble – Veassen was a not getting into trouble kind of boy, after all – but it was better to be safe than sorry. “What did you find?”

“I found this,” Veassen replied, pulling a small gold key from his pocket. “Is it yours?”

“Elflings don’t carry keys around with them,” Thranduil said wisely. “Where did you find it?”

Veassen gestured, and led his friend back down the corridor. They passed the office that was home to Vehiron’s secretary Master Tegoldir, and his scribes Celegauril and Eldurlas; opposite it was the polished oak door which led to the room where Master Dinendir, the administrative archivist, worked with his assistant Faelivor. From there the elflings had to pass a set of four offices, two on either side of the hallway, which were home to the treasurer Lord Arphenion and his staff. Thranduil often liked to slip into these offices to say hello to the elves hard at work, or else just sit and watch what they were doing, even if he didn’t always fully understand it. He wanted to understand, because a lot of people worked in the place where he and his family lived, and he thought it was important to know them and their reasons for being there. Today he settled for waving through one of the open doors, even though the young scribe inside, Eglessil, always had a sweet or two for him, hidden away inside her desk. Today, he was about important business that just might lead to an adventure. Sweets would have to wait.

Beyond the treasury offices, the hallway opened up into an oval chamber. It was unwalled on one side, protected by intricate railings set between colonnades, with a view down to the entrance hall of the palace. Expertly and beautifully etched into the centre of the floor was the sigil of the royal family of Greenwood the Great – a majestic oak tree beneath a silver winged moon. Sweet smelling floral arrangements sat in wall niches, and curving around the walls were cushioned benches where a visitor might wait to be summoned. The rear of the chamber was split in two by another passageway that led further back into the palace. Directly ahead were yet more rooms - the King’s formal office, perfectly opposite his brother the Lord Steward’s, and the offices where his private secretaries and chief advisors worked. Thranduil knew his father was down there, and he settled for casting a brief but longing glance at Oropher’s door before following Veassen around a colonnade and down the curving left side of the split staircase.

“I found the key right there,” Veassen announced, pointing just in front of him to the fifth step from the top.

That step became a seat for Thranduil, and he rested his arms on his knees as he gazed down into the entrance hall. He could see Mistress Minastiriel supervising a pair of young ellith as they polished the floor, their long hair held back by dark green headscarves. The key could have come from anyone, he reflected. How were they going to find its owner? Out loud, he said, “Uncle Vehiron told me that there’s so many keys, and even he doesn’t have all of them.”

Veassen sat on the step above his friend with his back against the wall, slowly turning the gold key over in his hands. The blade of the key was nondescript and might have been for any lock, but the bow was a complicated knot of gold. It twinkled in the sunlight that poured in from the glass ceiling. “Oh!” Veassen’s exclamation made Thranduil jump. “There’s a letter on it. Look. It’s small, but you can see it.”

Sure enough, etched just beneath the bow of the key was the letter that every elfling learned before any other – tinco, the very first letter of the alphabet. “Perhaps whoever owns the key has a name that starts with that letter,” Thranduil suggested, leaning over to trace the rune with the tip of his finger.

“Or perhaps it’s tinco like gold and silver, and the key is for the treasure rooms,” Veassen mused. He glanced over his shoulder, up towards the oval chamber and the offices they had just come from. “Don’t the elves who look after all the treasure and coins work up there? We could ask them if they’ve lost a key.”

Thranduil shifted restlessly. That sounded like just the sort of thing his sensible friend would suggest, because it was sensible. “Or, perhaps we might find out for sure which door it goes in before we tell anyone about it. If it doesn’t belong to the treasure elves we’ll have bothered them for nothing, and Lord Arphenion gets cross if you bother him for no good reason. But if we know its theirs, they’ll be happy with us and they won’t scold us for bothering them. They’ll call us good for helping them.”

That prompted a long-suffering sigh and a flicker of exasperation from Veassen. “You really want an adventure, don’t you?”

“Yes please,” Thranduil said, with prompt hopefulness. “I promise we won’t get into trouble.”

Veassen’s short burst of laughter suggested that he’d heard that before and didn’t believe in it one iota, promise or no promise. “You’ll have to lead the way,” he said, despite himself. “I don’t know how to get to the treasure rooms. I suppose there will be guards, so we’ll have to ask very nicely if we can go in. But if they say no, we’ll listen.”

“If they say no.” With a dutiful nod, Thranduil got to his feet and made short work of hopping down the stairs. Mistress Minastiriel was eyeing him sharply from across the hall, so he made sure to walk on his tiptoes to avoid dirtying her polished floor. Even though, he thought indignantly, his boots didn’t have a speck of mud on them. “The guards might say yes,” he reminded his friend, as Veassen joined him.

The small adventurers wandered through the palace, pondering the origins of the little golden key and speculating on the praise that would surely be heaped on them when they solved its mystery. They were joined on their mission by a light grey kitten, only a few months old and a product of a palace cat affectionately known as Lady Layabout. Everyone had told Thranduil the cat was just fat, but in the privacy of his bedroom he had spoken very seriously to Eru about how much he would like there to be kittens. Sure enough, all the naysayers had been surprised a week later when Lady Layabout gave birth to a trio of healthy kittens. Fourteen weeks on she was no longer pregnant nor feeding her young, but she was still fat. Thranduil accepted that the comments about her, whilst rude, had not been entirely without truth.

“Shadow is a sign,” the prince declared, as the kitten trotted along ahead of them. “A sign that we’re going in the right direction.”

Even Veassen appeared suitably impressed when they reached a pair of elves standing guard on either side of a heavy wooden door in the depths of the palace, and one of the guards not just failed to hinder Shadow in his journey, but opened the door for him too. The kitten promptly slipped through the crack, his tail swishing curiously as it disappeared. The guard who had opened the door kept one hand on the hilt of his sword and carelessly lifted the other as his companion stared at him. “What? Ephedir mentioned he saw a mouse the other day. Palace cats might as well earn their keep.”

“A mouse, really,” the second guard scoffed. “Ephedir ought not be on guard duty down there if he jumps at a mouse.”

“I think it was less a phobia and more a cleanliness concern,” the first guard replied idly.

Neither of the guards looked like they were going to pay the elflings any heed, so Thranduil did what he supposed was the princely thing and took responsibility for catching their attention. He stepped forward, and coughed lightly. “Hello.” He smiled up at the guards with charming politeness as they levelled their gazes on him. “I’m sorry to bother you. Might we go down the stairs, please?”

The grey eyed guard who had scorned Ephedir and his mouse-related worries stared at the small prince as if he had just asked to borrow one of her twin daggers for the slicing of bread. With raven-dark hair braided and coiled at the nape of her neck, she wore short robes of pine needle green which were cinched with a leather belt at the waist, over knee-high boots and charcoal coloured leggings. Her companion was a russet haired ellon with grey eyes, though his were lighter than hers and flecked with chips of topaz. His hunting leathers were grey and green, and he hadn’t moved his hand from its place on the hilt of the sword at his hip. Though he raised an eyebrow at Thranduil, he was hiding a smile. “For what purpose, princeling?”

“To follow Shadow. The kitten,” Thranduil clarified, pointing past the guards in the direction of the now disappeared little cat. “He was leading us to a door, Magor.”

“I’m sure Dagnirien will agree with me that what the palace cats do is their business, but little elflings aren’t to be wandering down there alone,” Protector Magor replied.

Veassen sighed, looking pained that he even had to defend himself. “I promise we weren’t going to do anything wrong or…or naughty, sir. We’re just trying to find a door, and Shadow was helping us.”

“Shadow shall have to be disappointed,” Dagnirien said flatly.

“Well, Shadow is only little, so he shouldn’t be wandering alone either,” Thranduil retorted. He promptly followed it up with a sweet smile as Dagnirien looked sharply at him. He had come to learn that even the sweetest smile didn’t work on everyone. He mentally added Protector Magor to the list of people susceptible to it, and Protector Dagnirien to the list of people who were not. She was muttering what sounded like some sort of oath under her breath, so Thranduil concentrated on Magor. “We think the key might be for the treasure rooms. We’d like to find out for sure before we bother Lord Arphenion, but you’re a little bit in the way.”

“Can’t we just this once?” Veassen asked hopefully.

“Please?” the elflings asked in unison.

Dagnirien huffed softly with a roll of her eyes. “Magor. Go with them.”

As the guards stepped aside, Thranduil and Veassen joined hands with a pair of happy gasps and darted past them, through the door. The passageway was lit with flaming torches secured in brackets on the walls. They made everything bright, but it was nothing like the upper levels of the palace where natural light streamed through the windows. Neither elfling had any idea where they were going, and as far as they could see there was no way of knowing which way was the right way; it wasn’t as though there were signposts. They chose their path based on their kitten companion, who seemed to know exactly where he was going, and the fact that Protector Magor didn’t correct them as he silently trailed them.

Branching corridors led them deeper and deeper. Occasionally they caught a glimpse of heavy wooden doors fortified with iron bars and guarded by pairs of elves. Shadow didn’t stop at those doors, so the children didn’t pay too much attention to them either. Finally, they rounded a corner and saw one such door up ahead; it was a dead end, so there was nowhere else to go but straight on. Two guards were playing cards at a table set at the side of the corridor, and one of them had a plate of cheese and biscuits next to him.

“You might have less mice if you brought less cheese down here, Ephedir,” Magor remarked by way of greeting.

Protector Ephedir frowned at Magor as he and his colleague got up to bow to Thranduil. “Do you have a good reason for bringing the little heir to the throne below ground, Magor?”

The heir to the throne could speak for himself even if he was little, Thranduil thought, with a flash of annoyance. “We need to solve the mystery of this key that Veassen found, so we shall be trying it in this door,” he said calmly, before Magor was able to reply. He started to turn away from the guards, but as an afterthought, he added, “Mice don’t actually like cheese all that much, so the cheese isn’t the problem. The biscuit crumbs probably aren’t helping though.”

“Thank you for keeping us informed, your Highness,” Magor said, his lips twitching.

“You’re welcome.” Thranduil looked down at Shadow, who was sitting in front of the door with his tail curled around his paws. The kitten returned his gaze with a slow blink. This had to be the right place, he thought, watching as Veassen removed the key from its safe place in his pocket. The lock was too high for Veassen to reach without standing on his tiptoes and stretching his arm up. It would have been helpful to have Linwë or Fileg there; they were the tallest elflings in the group. Still, Veassen managed it, and after some jiggling of the key there was a click and the door swung inwards on silent hinges. “Yes,” Thranduil whispered triumphantly, whirling to face the guards. “May we go in?”

“Oh, I suppose so,” Magor sighed. “We’ve come this far.”

Shepherded through the door, Thranduil prepared himself to see things of beauty and wonder such as he could only imagine. He pictured thousands upon thousands of glittering gold coins in massive mounds that reached all the way up to the ceiling, like leaf piles but of great value. It came as a crushing disappointment to him when the lamps were lit and all he saw in the chamber were tied hessian sacks in neat rows, and polished ironbound chests stacked on top of each other. He reasoned with himself that Lord Arphenion was an organised and tidy ellon, and such qualities were no doubt important in the head of the King’s Treasury. Thranduil accepted that Arphenion wouldn’t want to work surrounded by coins that were just flung on the floor like dirty clothes to go in the laundry.

Shadow scampered down a passageway at the back of the chamber. At a nod from Magor, the elflings followed him. This great chamber was as different to the first as it could be. Shelves lined the walls, displaying many precious items. There were bowls, plates, and cups of gold and silver, glittering with gems; baskets of jewels without settings, and stacks of metal ingots; beautifully wrought candleholders and statues; vases taller than the children, richly decorated, and necklaces, rings, bracelets, and all manner of other jewellery. Swords and daggers with shining blades caught the eye, and there were even bolts of the finest cloth – silks, satins and velvets – and ancient books and scrolls protected in glass cases.

“This is all yours?” Veassen whispered, staring with wide eyes.

Thranduil shifted from one foot to the other, discomfited by the idea. “I suppose it belongs to Ada and Nana,” he said slowly. “But if it was mine, I would share it with you.”

“It is at least partially yours, your Highness,” Magor clarified.

“But where did it all come from?” Thranduil asked uncertainly. “Just Greenwood? Ada and Nana didn’t have all this before. I’d have seen it.”

“Some of it is from Greenwood, yes. There are many jewels to be mined in the mountains of the Emyn Duir, and Elder Serellon has open mines dotted throughout the forest – not unlike his quarry that I know you have explored, my prince, but his workers delve for gems there rather than stone. You are not to go looking for those pits,” Magor cautioned, without turning from a gold etched vase he was examining. “Some of this has come from further afield – coronation gifts, valuable souvenirs found on foreign travels. And of course, some of what you see here came from Doriath. Of course, your parents didn’t have all of this before they came here, but a fair amount of it they did. How and where they stored their family treasure is not my business, but I’d imagine they used a banking house in Lindon.”

“Doriath?” Thranduil repeated. He had hardly heard Magor’s last few comments. “But, Doriath…”

“Fell, yes,” Magor agreed. “Much of its treasure was lost. But what was not lost came to be shared between the surviving heirs of the royal family, of which your father and uncle were two.”

Thranduil nodded quietly, because he didn’t know what he could say about Doriath. He didn’t understand how something like that could have happened. There were holes in his knowledge of that tragic chapter in his family’s history, but he knew that much had been lost. He knew it was why he had no living grandparents, and why his uncle’s son was an only child. He knew it was why his mother sounded sad whenever she told him that he reminded her of her baby brother. He also knew it was why Lord Herdir, the King’s Chief Advisor and a beloved sworn brother to Oropher and Vehiron, had no remaining blood relatives. And of course, he couldn’t know all that without knowing that treasure had been at the heart of Doriath’s fall. He didn’t think even the brightest and most beautiful treasure could have been worth it.

While Thranduil delved into thoughts darker than an elfling ought to be plagued by, Shadow the kitten gambolled around the chamber, heedless of the treasures that surrounded him. He tumbled over his paws, and collided with a basket heaped with jewels of snowy white with a translucent blue undertone, like veins beneath the skin. The basket toppled slightly, spilling some of its treasure over the top onto the floor. It made Thranduil stir, and he knelt by the fallen gems to pick them up. They felt smooth and cool in his hands. They reminded him of the moon and the stars.

“I like these,” he said softly.

“Those are moonstones,” Magor said. “Put them back, my prince.”

Not without some reluctance, Thranduil opened his hand over the basket and let the gems trickle back to where they belonged. He was sorry to let them go. Careful not to dislodge any of the other treasures, he scooped Shadow up into his arms so he couldn’t cause more trouble, and got to his feet. He felt that he’d had his fill of the treasury, and was ready to leave. He didn’t have to say as much to Veassen; his friend followed his lead, and after a few last looks around the chamber, they both followed Magor back to the coin room and out into the hallway where a new card game had been started between Ephedir and his colleague. As well lit as it was, it seemed dark after the glitter and sparkle of the treasury.

When they got above ground, Protector Dagnirien was waiting for them with a tall ellon whose light brown hair was kept back from his face by a silver barrette set with chips of lapis lazuli. He was clad in flowing robes of pale blue, with an indigo sash around his waist and a silver medallion on a thin chain resting on his chest. He looked like an ellon who was trying hard to be patient. “My prince,” he said, bowing slightly to Thranduil. “I trust you and your friend enjoyed your adventure.”

“Oh yes, we did. Thank you, Lord Arphenion,” Thranduil replied politely. “Your treasure rooms are quite sparkly.”

“Here is your key, my lord,” Veassen offered nervously, holding it out.

“You’re not in any trouble,” Thranduil added helpfully, “because you didn’t lose the key on purpose. I’ve lost things on purpose before and it never ends well.”

Lord Arphenion was unable to help both his quiet sigh of relief at the return of the key, and the faint blush that stained his cheeks at Thranduil’s comment. “I expect not. I certainly would not have lost the key on purpose, my prince, but your reassurance is gratefully received.” He drew himself up, just about maintaining his dignity as Protector Magor turned a laugh into a cough and even Protector Dagnirien allowed herself a smirk. “I shall return to my duties,” Arphenion added. “Thank you again, elflings.”

Whilst he returned to his duties, striding away with robes billowing behind him, the guards returned to theirs as well, their straight backs and focused gazes suggesting they had been pestered enough for one day. Thranduil and Veassen didn’t have any duties to speak of, just an afternoon to fill with playtime. It had rained during their adventure, so accompanied by Shadow, they retreated to the nursery and lay on the floor with a jigsaw puzzle set out between them. It didn’t take long for Shadow to fall asleep, and he chose the middle of the puzzle as his bed. Leaving him there, the elflings moved to the balcony doors and watched raindrops race down the glass. They had each won two races apiece by the time Veassen was collected to go home by his grandfather, Captain Rhoven.

Feeling bereft at the disappearance of his friend, Thranduil left Shadow sleeping atop the half finished puzzle, and made his way back to the place where his adventures had started earlier that afternoon. It was the end of the day and most of the offices were shut, or at least emptying as the elves within finished their work and went home for the night. Thranduil could see a familiar elleth up ahead, tidying the desk positioned just outside the King’s office. That desk was always occupied, though thanks to a rotating schedule its occupant changed every few days. With a few exceptions, nothing and nobody reached Aran Oropher without being approved by the elf at the desk, something that Thranduil had found was both a blessing and a curse. He liked that Private Secretary Laeglir and her staff could intervene if the King was too busy to take on more work or visitors, but sometimes even he got turned away, and that always stung.

“Is Ada in there? May I see him?” Thranduil asked, pausing by the desk. He watched Laeglir look up from some documents she was tidying away into a leather binder. “Are you getting ready to go home?”

“Yes, he is, yes, you may, and yes, I am,” Laeglir replied, brushing a burgundy curl out of her eyes. “Have you behaved well today, your Highness?”

Thranduil sighed. Captain Rhoven had asked him that, too. “Yes, Laeglir. Have you?”

“Indeed I have, thank you for asking. I know far better than to misbehave.” The Private Secretary paused thoughtfully. “Of course, you know better as well yet you still misbehave.”

“That’s enough, Laeglir,” came a reproving voice from behind the desk, though Aran Oropher sounded amused.

As Thranduil went to his father’s side, he gave Laeglir a look that said he’d very much like to stick his tongue out at her. Deciding that he was far too polite for that, he looked up at Oropher instead. “Hello, Ada. I’ve behaved well today,” he added, before the King could ask.

“I am pleased to hear it,” Oropher laughed.

Father and son walked together hand in hand, Thranduil happily swinging Oropher’s arm back and forth as he regaled him with tales of his afternoon with Veassen. Oropher always made for a good audience, listening attentively and making all the right sounds in the right places. “But we didn’t go by ourselves,” Thranduil had to add, because he could tell by the arch of his father’s eyebrows that that would be the next question. “There was a kitten with us, and Protector Magor.”

“I am glad that Protector Magor accompanied you,” Oropher remarked. “And it is nice that you found a kitten, laes-nín. I know you like kittens.”

“I love them,” Thranduil clarified.

“You love kittens,” Oropher agreed, hiding a smile. “My mistake. So, what did you think of the treasury?”

“The coin room wasn’t my favourite, but the treasure room was so bright and lovely. My eyes wanted to look everywhere all at once. Even when we left I felt like I hadn’t seen everything, but…” Thranduil hesitated, catching his breath. He could feel his father’s eyes on him as he looked down. “It made me think a lot of things. I thought that I don’t understand how anyone could make bad things happen just because of treasure, even the most special treasure. And I felt bad because even though I was sad about that, I still wanted one of the jewels. Then I was thinking about something that isn’t very fair.”

There was a marble bench not far down the hallway, overlooking the rain washed gardens, and Oropher sat there after a brief but concerned glance for his son. Standing Thranduil in front of him, he held the elfling’s hands and looked intently at him. “What did you think about?”

“Veassen said that the treasure is mine – well, partly mine – and I don’t think it’s fair that I have treasure and my friends don’t,” Thranduil explained. “I’m already a prince, and they can’t be princes. Only I can. And it’s nice that Fileg and his sisters live here, but Linwë and Veassen don’t live here, and I just want us to be all the same as much as possible. I don’t want to have more than them.”

Oropher smiled lovingly, and leaned forwards to give his son a cuddle. It was returned with small arms wound about his neck. “My compassionate elfling.” He lifted Thranduil onto his lap and curled an arm around him. “You have had many thoughts going around in your mind, haven’t you? As to the first ones, we can talk a little about that tonight; you, me, and Nana. If you have questions about Doriath, and what happened there, you may ask us and I promise we will do our best to answer.”

“Won’t it make you sad?” Thranduil asked softly.

There was a moment of hesitation as Oropher drew a breath. “I would rather put your mind at ease, laes-nín. Don’t worry about me and Nana.” He squeezed Thranduil comfortingly against his chest. “As for your other thoughts, I am sure that I can spare a gem for my beloved elfling. And, I shall make sure your friends all have one too so they are not left out. How is that?”

“Oh, yes,” Thranduil breathed, smiling widely. “We’d love that, Ada, thank you. Can they be white gems?”

“White gems,” Oropher agreed. “I promise.”

Thranduil believed it. He had come to learn that he could trust the promises that his parents made him. They were never made thoughtlessly, or in vain, never just to keep him quiet. Oropher in particular was always carefully honest about what he could and could not promise, as king and father both, even if it wasn’t necessarily what would most please his people and his loved ones. Thranduil didn’t resent that honesty. He valued it. It was a comfort to know that instead of believing in false hope, he could always believe in his father.


	3. Power of a Queen

It had rained in the night, and dewdrops sat tremulously where they had gathered on leaves and stalks. The air was fresh and clean, lightly scented with citrus and vanilla from white water lilies that had opened with the rising of the soft spring sun. A bluebird perched on a glistening rock halfway up a small waterfall was joining in with the choral melodies that drifted out from the Temple; sweet, hopeful, haunting. In the centre of the bridge that arched across the pool, there stood an elleth. Her riding gown was the colour of freshly fallen snow sparkling under winter’s sun, and the diaphanous silver cape that hung down from her shoulders fluttered gently in the breeze. Resting her hands flat on the bridge, she breathed in slowly, deeply, savouring it all. It was a beautiful morning, she thought, content.

 

“Mother.”

 

Elder Aermanis opened her eyes. The delicate silver chains threaded through her hair of jet tinkled gently against each other as she turned. “Daughter,” she replied gently.

 

“Forgive me for disturbing you, Mother. Your horse has been made ready.”

 

There were girls who had been studying at the Temple for years who spoke with more wonder in their voices than the young elleth waiting calmly at one end of the bridge. Wearing the simple white dress of a Temple novice, her chestnut hair tied back with a dark green ribbon that matched her eyes, Fainauriel Talduriel folded her hands at her waist and met the Elder’s sapphire gaze as if they were equals. Aermanis smiled slightly. Most in the novitiate dropped their eyes respectfully, or even in submission, when they stood before her. They didn’t have to. They were never told to. Some chose to, consciously or not, and that was right for them. Some chose to meet her gaze unflinching, and that too was right. The Temple was a place of great contrasts; structure, discipline, and hard work ruled the lives of all. Yet, their journeys were individual, the paths they walked were their own. There was no right way or wrong way. They all learned that in time. Some learned it earlier than others.

 

Aermanis crossed the bridge and passed into the Peace Garden, where any servant of the Temple or a visitor could sit and meditate. Surrounded by polished black rocks, the stepping-stones that ran around a circle of beautifully trimmed grass were cool on the soles of her feet. She always relished that feeling, but she loved it best when the sun had warmed the stones so much that she would stand on them and wiggle her toes in a moment of private girlish pleasure. Sitting on a marble bench that faced into the garden, she hid her disappointment as she pulled on the soft white riding boots that she had brought with her. Ever since her earliest childhood, she had preferred being barefoot to wearing shoes crafted of even the softest silk. She felt closer to the world around her when her bare feet touched the earth.

 

“Would you like me to take your letters, Daughter?” Aermanis asked, rising from the bench and picking up a woven basket that she had brought for her journey.

 

Fainauriel had the grace to awkwardly shift from one foot to the other. “I thought it made sense, when I heard you would be seeing my brother anyway…”

 

“It makes perfect sense,” Aermanis agreed calmly. “I shall deliver your letters and ensure they go home with Veassen.”

 

A small bundle of letters bound together with twine emerged from Fainauriel’s pocket. “He’ll probably pester you about when he can see me. But he’ll do it politely. He’s good like that.”

 

Aermanis laughed softly, the chiming of silver bells, as she tucked the letters into her basket and covered the contents with a piece of crimson watered silk. “He may pester me politely or impolitely, and I shall answer his questions. You are due a visit from your family soon, are you not?”

 

“In twelve days,” Fainauriel confirmed softly. “I am looking forward to it.”

 

“That is as it should be. Be well, Daughter.”

 

Gathering her basket onto her arm, Aermanis gave the novice a kiss of benediction before going on her way. She passed back across the bridge, leaving the Peace Garden and the Temple behind her. The path that she took wound serpent-like around the boundary of the Temple grounds, parallel to the stream that burbled down from the water lily pool. She took her time walking it. Both sides of the path were carpeted in sweetly fragranced bluebells, and the soft hum of bumblebees exploring the violet and indigo blossoms made for a lovely spring song sweeter than any harp or flute.

 

As the stream disappeared underground to continue its journey, the path crossed over it and circled around to the front of the Temple where a bay gelding and a white mare were waiting patiently. The four columned courtyard that sat before the entrance to the Temple was empty save for one individual; an ellon, dressed in the colours of the forest with a hooded grey cloak and wrist guards of brown leather etched with silver. A slim sword sat at his waist, and he stood with one booted foot casually hooked behind the other and his arms crossed over his chest. He would have looked only slightly more at ease if he had lain down in the grass and wildflowers to sleep. Aermanis knew better, though. The Protectors were never truly at ease. Still, this particular one didn’t have to go quite as far as leaning against the revered, centuries-old statue of Eru, which had weathered many a storm and watched benevolently over the hundreds of ellyn and ellith who had come seeking peace at the Temple.

 

“Noendir, how many times must I chide you for using the Creator as a resting place?” Aermanis asked, just a touch reprovingly.

 

Protector Noendir turned with a shameless grin. “Does He mind so very much when one of His children rests their weary body against Him for a moment?”

 

“Not so very much, I suppose,” Aermanis sighed. She greeted her sweet natured mare with some fondly murmured words, and accepted the hand that Noendir came and offered her, though they both knew it wasn’t needed. Mounting up and carefully settling her basket in front of her, she watched the ellon with a resigned gaze as he swung himself atop his own horse with a wince and a grimace. “Dare I ask why your body is so weary already? It is but the ninth hour.”

 

“You may ask, but the answer will make you blush, my lady,” Noendir replied.

 

“If you make me switch it out of you, Protector-mine, it won’t be my cheeks that are blushing, so best you stop trying to fool me,” Aermanis said mildly. The warrior laughed at that as they set off, but she could tell from the quick flutter of his lashes that he hadn’t entirely dismissed her threat. He was wise not to. It wasn’t just the Sons and Daughters of the Temple who were held to high standards of behaviour and discipline. The Protectors were too, and Noendir didn’t escape that just because he was her Sworn Sword. He was young and incorrigible, with a mischievous streak that Aermanis knew in her heart wasn’t becoming to one who held such a coveted role. Still, he was harmless. He made her laugh, and she appreciated the way he spoke to her as if she was just another elleth and not an Elder, not a High Priestess. Few others did.

 

Aermanis raised a slim eyebrow at the ellon when it was clear he had chosen to maintain his silence. “Well? I could always send you to your aunt when we return. Parveth may be Mistress of Novices, but I know she and her strap don’t discriminate.”

 

“My backside and I know that too,” Noendir grumbled. “If you must know, I was running somewhat late this morning. I thought I might save some precious minutes by dressing and descending the stairs at the same time.”

 

“How did that idea work out for you?” Aermanis inquired.

 

“Spectacularly. I only fell down the last six steps.”

 

Exasperation and concern made the Elder’s usual mask of serenity slip. “Noendir! Have you reported to a healer, at least?”

 

“Yes, and Sister Glavranien called me a fool and a clumsy oaf, dosed me with willow bark tea, told me she hoped the stairs had knocked some sense into me, and pronounced me fit for duty,” Noendir replied, sounding so cheerful that Aermanis didn’t fight the smile that came reluctantly to her lips. Her Sworn Sword noticed it, and his dark blue eyes brightened. “I really am fit for duty,” he added. “A bit bruised, but I’m sure I deserve to be.”

 

Aermanis settled for a sigh and a shake of her head, and her final say on the matter was that the young warrior would seek rest when their business was concluded. She spoke no less softly or gently than usual, but she wasn’t an elf to be disobeyed; her command was thus accepted with a reluctant nod. Satisfied that Noendir would do as he had been told, however reluctantly, she fell silent and drew pleasure from the fine spring morning. Animals darted across the path in front of them, and the sun seeped down through the trees, warming her face. As they rode, they passed citizens of Greenwood going about their business. Young ellith picking berries to be made into jam, a hunting party on their way out, elflings climbing trees and rolling about in the flowers. Aermanis smiled to see it, and she murmured greetings and blessings to all.

 

Their route took them around the capital city that lay at the southern foot of Amon Lanc, a deliberate decision. It was a busy and bustling place. The market at its centre boasted stalls, entertainers, and food vendors, and surrounding it were shops and businesses, inns and guardhouses. Riding through that hive of activity might take them directly to the palace’s south road, but it would also add an hour or more to the journey, for there would be many wishing to stop Aermanis and speak to her. Some would just wish to make friendly conversation, but others would seek prayers or advice, or a confidante to listen to their problems. She never begrudged anyone that, and she felt honoured to help those in need. But what they also needed was time, and she didn’t always have that.

 

Promising that she would ride through the city on her way back to the Temple, Aermanis made her way forth with her Sworn Sword at her side. They rode through smaller settlements where thatched cottages stood within peaceful, airy glades. In the gardens of larger houses standing alone, well-dressed elflings ran forwards to hang off the walls and cheerfully wave at them. Elder Aermanis lifted her hand in return, smiling benevolently. Elflings always gave her great joy.

 

Before long they had circled around to Amon Lanc’s eastern foot, and they joined the road that led up to the palace, winding around the hill on a gradual incline. The palace hadn’t always been there. Aermanis could recall as a girl when nothing had stood atop the flat crest of the hill but a semi-circle of high-backed stone chairs where the Circle of Elders had gathered. Their debates and meetings had taken place there, and so too had trials and the hearing of petitions. Later, a courthouse had been added. Nobody had been able to say that it was unnecessary; the trial of two ellyn charged with poaching rare white deer had been rained upon so heavily that the accused had both escaped amidst all the dismay and confusion. An indoor meeting hall for the Elders had soon joined the courthouse, and so too had stables, and administrative offices to store their records and archives.

 

It had all been abandoned one winter when a horrific storm from the east set fire to the courthouse and razed all the buildings to the ground. That had been in what Aermanis thought of as the olden days, when the people of Greenwood had built only with wood, eyeing stronger and more resilient building materials with suspicion and trepidation. That one lightning strike and the damage it left behind had cost lives, and for five hundred years afterwards a memorial had stood atop the hill. It had been a place of peace and beauty, and great sadness. Aermanis had gone there once a week in rain, sunshine, and snow, to lay fresh flowers.

 

Eventually, the memorial too had fallen, vandalised by cruel men when a trade agreement with the elves went awry. Nobody had quite known what to put on the hill after that, but an astronomy tower had come to take the place of the memorial, and it had endured until the Prophecy of the Golden King was spoken. That had changed everything for the Elves of Greenwood. Centuries before the birth of their Prince, when their King was just a broken young lord leading his surviving people away from the smoking ruins of their fallen home, Aermanis and her people had begun making plans and preparations for the fulfilment of a prophecy that had seemed a lifetime away. Some had even doubted that it would ever come to pass. Not Aermanis, though. She had always believed.

 

Now, standing before the glorious palace, Aermanis felt a slew of familiar feelings rush through her: pride, that as a people they had come so far; relief, that Oropher had not shunned the prophecy; joy, that the royal family they had been promised were so deeply beloved by all. She entertained her thoughts for mere moments before brushing them away, reminding herself that she had come to the palace for a reason. She turned to her Sworn Sword, who had dismounted next to her. “I don’t suppose you had time to eat breakfast between falling down the stairs and visiting Sister Glavranien. Go to the kitchens and see what they will give you.”

 

Noendir looked more than delighted with that order, and he handed their horses off to one of the grooms before disappearing around the side of the palace. Shaking her head fondly, Aermanis made her way inside at a more sedate pace, her basket hooked on her arm and the hem of her cape brushing the floor. She knew precisely where she was going, and she finished her journey without hindrance. A guardsman stood on duty at the closed door to the east wing, where the private rooms and apartments of the royal family were spread across three floors, and he readily admitted her.

 

On the first floor, Aermanis stopped outside another door, this one guarded by an ellon with hair the colour of wheat and eyes like cornflowers. Gold braiding on his green and silver tunic denoted his rank, and his hand rested lightly on the hilt of his sword. She smiled fondly. “Captain Rhoven.”

 

“Elder Aermanis.” The warrior bowed to her. As he straightened, he stepped forward and kissed her cheek. “How are you?”

 

“I am well. And you?” Aermanis inquired. “I trust your new position suits you, Uncle.”

 

“I don’t willingly complain about any King or Queen, Lord or Lady, that I have served, but Aran Oropher is an easier ellon to guard than Aran Elu ever was,” Rhoven murmured. His eyes flickered with grief and fondness both. “Easier than his sweet mother too, Eru bless her. I don’t expect I shall ever find him in a tree because he got stuck trying to rescue a kitten.”

 

“I expect not, but his little son may be a different matter,” Aermanis laughed. “Are they all within?”

 

For answer, Rhoven knocked on the door and stepped aside, smiling warmly at his niece as she glided past him into the royal dining room. Each part of Aran Oropher’s family had their own private dining areas to allow for the times when they wished to dine alone or with their spouse and children, but this room was large enough to accommodate the King and Queen and their entire extended family and friends. A long table ran down the centre of the room, and floor to ceiling windows bathed the room in natural light. Between each window there hung a long and slim wall tapestry depicting woodland scenes and waterfalls, and a large mirror on the opposite wall sent the sunlight into every corner. There were portraits of a starlit Doriath on the walls at either end of the room, and beneath the mirror was a sideboard displaying a collection of silver ornaments.

 

As Aermanis curtseyed to the King and Queen, she glanced around the table. It was the elflings she had business with today, and the six that she needed were all present and looking at her with varying degrees of curiosity. Her little cousin, Veassen Taldurion, had hope in his nut-brown eyes. That reminded Aermanis of the letters that Fainauriel had given her; she trusted they would be of comfort to Veassen as he looked forward to visiting his eldest sister. “I hope I haven’t interrupted your breakfast,” she said, her gaze falling on Thranduil as she straightened.

 

“No. We finished breakfast,” the elfling replied. “I think there’s still some left. Would you like some strawberries, Elder Aermanis?”

 

She laughed softly. “No, my prince, thank you. In fact, I have something for you.”

 

“For me?” Thranduil looked suspiciously at her. “It isn’t my Begetting Day.”

 

“Indeed it is not. I know when your Begetting Day is,” Aermanis assured him. “Still, I have a gift for you, and for your friends. Come, elflings. All of you.”

 

She knelt on the floor and set the basket down in front of her, unfolding the silk covering to reveal six individual boxes wrapped in different colours. As the elflings left the table and gathered around her, each box made its way to one of them. “You may open them now,” Aermanis said. She watched with fond amusement as the silk wrappings were hastily discarded, though Thranduil’s cousins Thoroniel and Aiwen were careful to hold onto theirs. All six elflings made short work of opening the sturdy cherry oak boxes, lined in velvet, and suddenly the room was filled with gasps and exclamations as their gifts were revealed to them.

 

“The gems from the treasure rooms,” Thranduil breathed, his eyes wide.

 

Resting against the velvet were six silver pendants. Two were fashioned in the shape of niphredil blossoms, and four were of birds with wings outstretched. Each was set with a single moonstone, but there the similarities stopped, for they were also set with a different gemstone for each elfling. “Why are they different?” Linwë asked, comparing his pale green jade to Fileg’s glittering aquamarine. “So we don’t get them mixed up?”

 

“Each stone possesses different qualities. You all have a moonstone,” Aermanis said, lightly tapping the shining white stone clasped in the talons of Linwë’s bird. “Moonstones encourage truth, wisdom, and intuition. The other stones are personal to each elfling, and they will serve you all well if you respect them and trust in them.” She took a slim book from the basket, and gave it to Aiwen who was admiring her pink opal. “You may read about your stones, and learn, and of course ask anything you wish to know.”

 

There was a chorus of thanks from the elflings, and Aermanis smiled as they helped each other don their necklaces. She stepped in to help Veassen with his moonstone and beryl pendant, and as she did so she slipped him the bundle of letters from Fainauriel. She was rewarded by the sight of his eyes lighting up in pleasure. While the elfling tucked the letters away inside his tunic to be read later, Aermanis turned her attention to Thranduil. He had gone to the head of the table, and he was standing on his tiptoes to hug his father and thank him for allowing them to have gems from the treasury. The King smiled, pleased by his child’s happiness, and Aermanis’ heart was glad too. She knew that the transition from normal elfling to Crown Prince had not been easy for Thranduil, and that grieved her as it did all her colleagues both at the Temple and within the Circle of Elders. It pleased her to see him happy.

 

She watched him go to his mother at the other end of the table, and climb onto her lap to show her his moonstone and ruby pendant. Felith examined it at length, giving both the pendant and her elfling her full attention as if nothing else in the world mattered, as only a mother could. She looked up then, and smiled at Aermanis. “Thank you so much for seeing these made, Elder Aermanis. They are beautiful, and I know the children will treasure them.”

 

“You are most welcome, my Queen.”

 

Sapphire eyes locked on sky blue as Aermanis returned the younger elleth’s smile, and in that briefest of moments a frisson of awe and wonder thrilled between them. Long years of training, service, and self-discipline kept Aermanis’ serene mask in place, though she couldn’t be certain her eyes hadn’t flickered and given something away. Still, she had a greater advantage than the Queen, who physically pulled back with a startled jolt that broke their connection and made Thranduil look at her in concern. She appeared confused and anxious, and Aermanis saw the exact moment that she drew in a deep breath and sought composure. She wrapped her arms around Thranduil and cuddled him close, perhaps for comfort, perhaps using him as a steady anchor with which to ground herself. Elder Aermanis had no such need, and she calmly picked up her basket and curtseyed to Oropher and Felith before taking her leave of the royal family and their guests.

 

She didn’t stop in the city on her way back, and there was no conversation with her Sworn Sword. Noendir didn’t question her. He knew her moods as well as she knew his, and he understood when it was time for silence. They made haste, and their return journey to the Temple took half the time. It was no leisurely jaunt, and Aermanis didn’t even think of stopping to smell a flower or watch a woodland animal. She rode hard when it was safe to do so, and as soon as they reached the point where they had set off from earlier that morning, she wasted no time dismounting. “Have the horses stabled, and send Sister Parveth and Sister Raindes to me,” she ordered Noendir. As she swept inside, she called back over her shoulder, “Then get some rest, and do not let me see you back on duty until your bruises fade.”

 

Aermanis went straight to her study and closed the door firmly behind her. She paced then, up and down, up and down, the hem of her cape whipping around her ankles with each turn. Suddenly, like a stream blocked by a boulder, she stopped. She made herself stop. She sought for calm and peace, closing her eyes and taking deep, steadying breaths. _In through your nose and out through your mouth,_ she remembered the tranquil voice of a teacher from centuries past. She pictured a cloak descending upon her shoulders, a cloak of serenity. They were the most basic exercises, taught to Novices before their first month was out. And yet, they worked.

 

When the knock came at her door, Aermanis was seated behind her desk as if nothing had happened. “Come,” she called, rising and folding her hands at her waist. The door opened immediately to admit her Keeper of Records and her Mistress of Novices. Sister Raindes was clad in dove-grey, the skirt slit at the sides to show the blue silk under-gown below, and Sister Parveth wore a burgundy gown, her chestnut hair in one elaborate braid down her back. “Mother,” the two ellith murmured in chorus, greeting their High Priestess with curtseys.

 

“Thank you for meeting with me at such short notice, Daughters.” Aermanis resumed her seat, and gestured to the two chairs positioned in front of her desk. “I have just returned from delivering his Majesty’s gift to the elflings. Elder Eilianthel crafted them all personally, and Prince Thranduil and his friends were well pleased. I think they shall enjoy discovering the properties of their stones.”

 

“I am certainly glad to hear it, but I do not think you summoned us here just for that,” Parveth ventured.

 

Aermanis smiled faintly at her Mistress of Novices. “No. My encounter with the Queen led me to summon you. We have always known who she is, the blood of Daireth of Doriath, descended from a long and unbroken line of power. By rights, she should be a Seer to rival any of your Sisters.”

 

“But she is not,” Raindes said slowly. “Our Queen is great and powerful in her own way, I do not doubt it. But in this, Mother, she could not rival even the newest novice. The power ended with her.”

 

“No,” Aermanis whispered, her eyes alight. “She has the spark within her. I have felt it. Yet it sleeps, deeply and undisturbed.”

 

“She must be trained,” Parveth spoke up immediately. “Better late than never.”

 

Raindes was nodding fervently. “Left unchecked, it could be a danger to her.”

 

“Oh, do not doubt her. She is no novice. I feel she has been taught, at least somewhat, long ago. She has merely blocked her power,” Aermanis said. “You know as well as I that if she has refused to accept that she has the Gift, none of us here can force it from her. Forcing it will do more damage than good. We know it is there, and that is cause enough to be watchful. But, you understand, this cannot be shouted about. We must prepare for the inevitable, but we must do so quietly.”

 

The two ellith before her desk exchanged long glances, and nodded in quiet agreement. “What made her block it?” Parveth asked softly.

 

“Pain,” Aermanis replied grimly. “Great pain, and great loss.”

 

“Eru bless her,” Raindes murmured. “What is the key to unlocking this door she has closed?”

 

Elder Aermanis stood slowly and stepped out from behind her desk. She turned to the window and gazed out at the Peace Garden, her hands resting lightly upon the sill. “Pain and loss,” she repeated. “She has a child now. A living child. When he stands in danger’s way and she can prevent it with due warning, I believe that will be what unlocks the door to Bereth Felith’s power.”

 

“And until then,” Parveth said slowly, “we just wait?”

 

“We must, Daughter. Wait, watch, and be careful,” Aermanis intoned. “When the time comes – and it will – we must be ready.”

 

 

**The End**


End file.
